Ripped TShirts
by LionsandGods
Summary: Family dinner was supposed to go on without a hitch. Dean, Jo, Ellen, Sam, and Bobby were all supposed to have an easy night. But then Dean accidentally walked into Jo's room while she was changing.


The night was supposed to go on without a hitch.

It was a time to exhale all of the stress from the hunts that had gone on over the past month and attach themselves to some type of humility—a sense of family. Dean, Sam, and Bobby drove to Ellen and Jo's house, all of them excited to see each other and catch up and exchange boasts of hunts. Sam was still attached to his research, hunting a case to go after the following week, and Dean stared out the window in a dream while Bobby drove. His mind was focused, but still very much running around all of the memories that his brain could hold of the two women they were heading to see. Their first meeting, his and Jo's first hunt, their first "family dinner"; and every other insignificant thing, like the way Bobby looked at Ellen when the thought no one was looking, or the one time Jo braided Sam's hair. Nothing was supposed to happen.

Dean even had a good feeling about the night, stoked about sleeping in an actual bed. But as soon as they pulled up to the house in Bobby's old Mustang and he saw Ellen in the living room, something was… _different_. He wasn't sure if it was good or bad, just knew it was there.

Almost immediately after Dean took his bag out of the backseat and turned around, Jo was in his face. He didn't know how or when she snuck up so quietly, but she had. "Hey, Deano," she said with a small grin. She had been practicing her stealth.

"Jesus, Jo!" He jumped back against the vehicle. His friend laughed in return, her teeth showing. Something seemed different about her, he noticed once he had settled. Jo held his stare.

"Stop gawking at the ladies, Dean," Bobby said, snapping Dean out of whatever dimension he had managed to fly into.

"Bobby, lemme help you with your bag," Jo said, immediately jumping away from Dean. The two walked inside.

Dean shut the back door to the Mustang, turning to his brother. Sam was grinning, his shoulders up to his neck, the very same way he did whenever Dean was either about to get his ass kicked by Bobby and Ellen or embarrass himself. Any time the younger Winchester could make fun of his brother, he was gonna take it.

Dean furrowed his brow, stone face in return. "What?" He snapped. Sam didn't answer, just kept grinning. "Fuck you," Dean concluded, walking into the house.

He and Sam took Bobby's bags upstairs, pretending to be kind; but really only doing it so they got first dibs on beds. Sam and Dean settled their things into the room across from Jo's, sticking Bobby's in Ellen's room, crossing their fingers that they wouldn't get in trouble.

Dean went downstairs before Sam to say hello to Ellen and give a proper hello to Jo. In the midst of his hug with Ellen, he noticed what was bothering him with Jo. "What is that?" He made a face and pointed to her t-shirt.

Jo looked down at her t-shirt, which featured a posterized version of Sid Vicious, the cut out letters spelling his name. "What are you, illiterate?" She asked, pointing to the writing.

"The Sex Pistols?" Dean demanded, facing Ellen.

"It's just a phase, boy," she put her hand on his shoulder.

Sam came barreling down the stairs. "I heard Dean yelling, is there a demon?"

"No."

"What's wrong?" He faced his brother.

"The _SEX PISTOLS_, Sammy!" Dean pointed again, more enraged.

"They're the godfathers of punk, Dean," Jo rolled her eyes.

"Don't—" His face changed, rage showing through. "_No_." He had to walk away. It was family night—there wasn't any room for arguments. He went into the kitchen to help Ellen and Bobby with dinner while Sam went to do some reading or research or some nerdy brother thing.

And then suddenly it was dinner. Jo was sent on the search to look for her, first starting in living room, then circling the entire downstairs, and then proceeding to make as much noise as possible on his way up the stairs.

"Hey Jo, you take a long friggin time to get down stair-"

Dean regretted opening the door when Jo shouted, "get out!" and a book was launched at his head.

"I'm so sorry, oh my God." His eyes were wide as he shut the door, but it was already too late. Dean had seen Jo's boobs. And the thing about Dean was that once he saw a girl's breasts, it was hard to _unsee_ them in his mind, along with thoughts of other… things.

He turned toward her door, but stopped, facing the stairs. Dean took a deep breath to steady his thoughts before walking down to the first floor, one foot in front of another. Easy.

"Where's Jo?" Bobby asked from the kitchen, her name immediately slamming into Dean's skull.

"I don't know," Dean's voice was stuck in his throat. As soon as he heard her name, all he could think about was how white and soft the skin of her chest looked.

"Well then, where is she?" Ellen asked, her voice sounding stronger than Bobby's. Oh, God, Dean could only imagine what would happen if Ellen found out.

"I don't know."

He walked into the living room, immediately met by Sam's stare. His arms were open, with his laptop and notes about the case in an organized order in front of him on the oak coffee table. "Dude," his brother said. "What's wrong with you? You're so pale."

"I'm fine, I didn't see anything," Dean answered defensively, wiping his clean hands on the sides of his flannel. Sam didn't answer, just kept staring at his older brother. Dean was fine. He just saw Jo's boobs and then proceeded to think about kissing every inch of her. It was a normal day. He was fine.

The sound of feet on the stairs moved his attention. Dean watched Jo walk downstairs, clad in a fresh flannel and a Sex Pistols t-shirt, ripped on the left shoulder hem to expose some skin. He stopped looking at her as soon as he focused on her torso, immediately looking at the ground. Jo paused at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for Dean to look at her. When he didn't, she sighed, walking into the kitchen.

"Do you wanna talk about anything, Dean?" Sam asked, while Bobby called for them to come in. "Something about Jo maybe?"

"Don't be a bitch, Sam," Dean snapped, heading into the kitchen. Sam opened his mouth, but then closed it, rolling his eyes as he followed after his brother.

Dinner was strange. Dean ate, but his eyes remained on his plate, only looking up to reach for more food. Jo was sitting across from him and Sam was on his right. He cursed in his mind, knowing that Jo had picked the seat across from him on purpose. A confrontation was in order, he knew, but one that he didn't want to have. Especially not in front of everyone. Ellen and Bobby sat at the heads of the table and attempted to ignore it, trying to carry on shallow conversations with Sam and Jo. But eventually, the obvious change with Dean was too hard to ignore.

"Boy, if you don't say what's wrong with you in the next thirty seconds, my foot will be shoved so far up your ass," Bobby threatened.

"Please don't put anything up my ass," Dean mumbled in a low voice, eyes still on his plate. All eyes were on him. His posture was straight and tense, his jaw tight. Even Bobby's threats weren't working on making him come clean.

Jo sighed and put her fork down. "Dean," she said. When he barely glanced at her, she spoke again. "Dean, is this because you saw my boobs?"

Sam choked on his water, beginning to cough loudly. "What did you just ask him?" Ellen's voice was low and menacing, three times worse than any voice of a demon. Bobby's eyes were on fire, heading straight for Dean's, who was once again turning pale.

"Well?" Jo asked.

Dean took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. He met Jo's eyes for half a second before looking back down. "What do you think?" He answered in a mumble.

"You saw my daughter's chest?" Ellen asked in a roar.

The eldest Winchester looked at her now, jumping to save his ass. "Okay, well, it was an accident."

"Surely."

"He came up to tell me to come down for dinner and didn't knock," Jo added.

"See anything else you liked?" Sam couldn't help but ask, grinning like an idiot at his brother.

Dean turned slowly. "I will kill you, Sam."

"That better be a no," Bobby spit.

Dean covered his face with his hands, his head bowed over the table. "I can't do this," he said, his voice hopeless. "I can't. I'm out." He pushed back his chair, looking at Ellen. "I'll meet you in the backyard, right? You'll bring the shotgun."

He picked up his leather jacket off of the stairs railing and walked out to the backyard, letting the screen door slam behind him. As soon as he reached the grass, he immediately started to pace. He wondered how he had gotten in a situation where he cared so much about it, and why he hadn't kept himself so composed. Jo was practically his sister, he should have wanted to throw up or something, not think about stripping off her Sex Pistols ripped shirt and kiss her shoulder. If he couldn't stop thinking about this and he was getting falsely accused by Ellen and Bobby, Dean figured getting shot would help ease it a bit.

He was alone outside for no longer than ten minutes before he heard footsteps behind him. "Are we doing this executioner style or what?" he swiveled, face to face with Jo, who didn't have a gun.

Dean was startled. He started to open his mouth, but Jo shushed him. "Not a word. I can't deal with your comments right now."

He wouldn't be able to think up one at that moment if he tried, so he nodded instead, his lips slightly parted as she came closer to him. He licked the bottom of his lip once she was standing in front of him, folding his lower lip in against his teeth and darting out his tongue slowly. She watched before letting her eyes flutter back to his gaze.

"You ready?" She asked.

Dean was still confused. He faltered. "For what?"

Jo collected the bottom hem of her shirt and drew it up to her shoulders. The eldest Winchester watched her shakily at first, watched her fingers curl and her pearly skin appear. And then he was left staring at her—all of her—and taking her in. She must have been carved out of stone with the way her skin looked, so smooth and soft. "God," he whispered as something inside of him twitched. "Ellen's gonna kill me."

He stepped forward, pushing her shirt back down slowly. His eyes were cast down. It wasn't that he was ashamed—he just didn't know what would happen if he looked at her. Jo cocked her head to the side, her eyes on Dean's face. "Don't do this to me," he pleaded to her, his voice quiet and low. He looked back at her, softness in his eyes. "Just don't."

Jo smiled then, curling her fingers around his ear as she laid her hand on the side of his face. Dean wished now that he had shaved if he had known that Jo was going to be so close, touching his face. He knew it was probably scratching and awkward, like sandpaper. "Don't be a pussy, Winchester," she teased, her voice just as low.

Dean's lip curled into a snarl, twitching as Jo pushed his face to the side, moving hers the opposite way. "Dean," she said in a questioning way. "What do you think about me?"

He shrugged, recovering fast. "Your rack is pretty nice."

She smiled again, her eyes bright. She was clearly glad that the tension was gone and let her hand slip off of his face, turning to the side to tilt her head back as she laughed. His hands twitched. His mouth twitched. His tongue was in a swirl in his mouth, watching her. As soon as she turned back around, Dean didn't even think about it. There were no thoughts about how they _shouldn't_ or _couldn't_ or anything. There were no thought about the aftermath—about what would happen if Sam or Bobby or Ellen found them in the back. Zero thoughts about what she would do back, or if it would ruin whatever good thing they had. His feelings were in his mouth, his throat tight. He needed it out of him, out of his stomach, out somewhere else. He simply stepped forward, put his hands on either side of her jaw and neck, and kissed her on the mouth.

At first she didn't do anything. There was a full five seconds (Dean counted) that Jo didn't respond and it was just his lips pressing into hers. He wondered if she was in shock. He wondered if he should check if she was breathing. But then, her arms settled around his neck and pulled him down, her lips pressing back against his. And then as quick as it began, she pulled back. Not far, but still farther than Dean would have liked. "What are we doing?" She asked in a whisper.

"Does it matter?" He replied, moving her blonde waves of hair out of her face. "I'm not good at this serious shit, Jo."

"I know," Jo nodded, kissing him softly again, as if she couldn't make up her mind about whether or not she wanted to continue the conversation or continue kissing him. "But they're gonna wonder where we are soon."

Dean shrugged. "Fuck 'em."

But Jo shook her head in return, pushing on his chest, holding onto his flannel. "I'll cut you a deal," she said. "Sneak into my room later tonight. I'll let you touch my boobs."

"Only if you don't wear a Sex Pistols t-shirt."

Jo smiled. "You're on."


End file.
